


Sansa Stark's Erotic Friend Fiction

by PeekabooFang



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Bob's Burgers reference, Bullying Mentions, F/M, Not Underage, Oneshot, Sansa is absolutely Tina, bit of a satire, but basically only implied future sansan, kind of, sansan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 22:43:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8866339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeekabooFang/pseuds/PeekabooFang
Summary: Sansa chooses an inopportune time to work on one of her private stories.





	

_Sansa stared out the window of her miserable cell, overlooking the carnage and wildfire outside. Her bosom heaved up and down in great distress as the green flames highlighted her fine high cheekbones, sea-blue eyes, and long thick auburn hair falling down her shoulders in coppery waves._

_She trembled with fear, her cherry-red lips quivering as she whispered to herself in a sweet yet husky voice, “Oh, how will I escape? How?”_

_A large warm hand encircled her wrist roughly._

_“Perhaps I can help, little bird.”_

_She gasped. Sandor Clegane! The Hound! Lying in her bed! She could just make out his dark hulking shape in the shadows. The green of the wildfire flashed through the window, throwing his disfigured but rugged face into stark emerald relief.  
“I knew you’d come.”_

_With the same roughness from before, he pulled her down to him._

_Right away she was overwhelmed by his thick masculine scent, mixed with the metal taste of blood on him. His intense stony eyes seared into her as he breathed her in._

_She almost swooned in his great strong arms. “What are you doing here?” She murmured, her breasts pressed painfully against his armored chest._

_“I’ve left the battlefield.”_

_She gasped anew. Left the battlefield? He, the greatest warrior in all the land? Who was the bravest of all fighters, who never shirked a battle…was it the fire? That was his one vulnerability, giving him an aura of tender childlike sorrow, so different from his usual violent façade._

_And now he was in her chambers? How…how can this be?_

_“What…what about the king?”_

_He sneered. “That foolish c-word? I spit on him. He’s treated you like shite. He’s an evil king, and he’s probably going to die crying like a little wuss. Not to mention that bitch of a mother of his! All that crap she said about how you copied her daughter’s dress at the castle ball was such bull. You looked so much better than Myrcella did, anyway.”_

_Sansa looked away and blushed innocently. “Oh, I don’t know. Myrcella is so pretty.”_

_Far more gently than she ever dreamed he was capable of, Sandor stroked her hair. “You are too good for this world, little bird. Let me take you somewhere safe. No one will hurt you again, or I’ll kill them.”  
Sansa’s breath caught in her throat. Her cheeks burned crimson. All the while she felt the heat of his hands and the cool weight of his armor on her, surrounding her._

_“But the danger! Ser, I couldn’t ask this of you” –_

_His eyes, barely an inch away from hers, flashed dangerously. His grip on her arms tightened. “I’m no ser,” he growled in his deep bass voice._

_With a passion fiercer than his sword, he flipped her over on her back and crouched over her. His mouth crushed down on hers. It was cruel and hard, and warm, and greedy, and she heard herself groaning deep in her throat, and she couldn’t stop herself from reaching one hand around his thick muscled neck, the other tracing down his back until she reached –_

_“Little bird,” he groaned._

_“Little bird!_

_“Sansa!_

_“Miss Stark!”_

_She grew disoriented, not recognizing that title, still feeling his burning lips on hers between his gasps --_

**“Miss Stark!”**

“Gah!” Sansa’s head shot up from her notebook.

Mr. Clegane was staring at her from the front of the classroom, expression cross and exasperated as always.

Sansa blinked and felt herself go crimson for different reasons now.

Half the class’s eyes were on her, the other half looking at the floor, hoping Mr. Clegane wouldn’t call on them next. 

Only Jeyne sitting next to Sansa looked at her with any sympathy. Sansa could hear Joffrey snickering in the back with Meryn and Lancel.

Sansa reflexively crossed her arms over her notebook, concealing the latest chapter of her medieval erotic fantasy, _The Hound and the Little Bird._ “Um, I’m sorry, sir. I was too busy taking…notes. What did you ask?” She knew she shouldn’t have started writing during class, but you never know how long inspiration’s going to last!

Mr. Clegane merely rolled his eyes and harrumphed. “Notes, eh? More like the little bird’s flying up in the clouds again. Don’t chirp anymore courtesies at me, little bird, and just answer my question: what year was prohibition repealed?”  
Sansa reflected only for a split second before her face brightened and she answered, “December 5th, 1933.”

Her smile dimmed as she heard Joffrey mimic her in a high-pitched baby voice: “December fiff, nineteen-thewty-thwee.”

Sansa made her face remain neutral as they laughed and she heard one of his friends cough “dork” into his hand.

And yet in an odd, thrilling way, she looked forward to what was coming next.

She peered up shyly at Mr. Clegane as his face took on what all the students called his “Hound” look – eyes gleaming furiously, lips drawn into a tight unforgiving line, burnt cheek twitching, and his voice barking out like steel against stone.  
“That’s enough out of you, Baratheon. Unlike you, at least Miss Stark can string a sentence together.” He glanced at Sansa, and she swore, she just swore she could see a warm sort of fondness there in his probing eyes. “And it happens to be a correct sentence, once again. Good job, Miss Stark. You even got the month and the day.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Impressive.”

He said the word casually, throwing it over his broad shoulder as if he hadn’t just made her day, and probably the rest of her week.

_Impressive. He thinks I’m impressive._

She hoped no one could hear her heart hammering away.

She hid her smile in her chest, burying her chin there. 

“All right, class, if you can muster up the effort, turn your textbook to page” –

Sansa spent the rest of the class in a sort of dream. She wasn’t so dangerously far gone as to write the rest of her chapter today, but she knew Sandor – _Mr. Clegane_ wouldn’t call on her again. So she let her mind wander.

When in her dream world, she never thought about how all her efforts to fit in throughout high school had failed miserably. She’d been so sure her ballet training, her singing lessons, the fact she designed and sewed all her dresses, joined glee club, founded crochet club, and helped Mrs. Mordane organize the yearly bake sale would make her just as popular as head cheerleader Margaery Tyrell. 

Yet all throughout her four years here at King’s High proved her utterly, totally wrong. 

She did all right at first – Joffrey had been so kind then. She’d been enamored of his handsome blond looks and kind manners. 

But then her father, the town chief of police, had cracked down on the local mall’s shop lifters, meaning Joffrey now had a record at the police department.

He’d made her life hell ever since. So had his sneering mother, the sophisticated blonde president of the PTA.

Still, Sansa had her own staunch group of friends – her childhood bestie Jeyne, athletic Brienne, bookworm Shireen, activist Dany, and even Margaery was nice to her, when she could tear herself away from Joffrey. She was even getting along better with her tomboy sister Arya, even if her little sister was a few years behind her.

She’d also tried dating a few other boys after Joffrey, such as Margaery’s brother Willas, an absolute sweetheart but with whom she lacked any kind of spark. Jock Harrold Hardyng took her to the movies once, but he spent the whole time texting other girls.  
   
No, Sansa thought sighing, there was only one man for her right now.

She looked up at Mr. Clegane through her eyelashes. 

_My brave Hound…._  
Sansa couldn’t wait for this summer’s Ren Faire. She was already designing her costume: the light blue billowy gown her Sansa wears in the scene he kisses her….

She hadn’t told anyone yet about her crush on Mr. Clegane. Not even Jeyne. It had crept up on Sansa all of a sudden.

He’d scared her at first, as he did all his students. It wasn’t just the burn scars. It was his eyes. They were sharp, ferocious, and his barking deep voice really was reminiscent of some vicious hound’s.  
But then came the day at her locker.

It was two weeks after Ned had arrested Joffrey, after Joffrey had dumped her in front of the whole school. Sansa was already feeling raw that morning because the night before Margaery’s handsome brother Loras, whom Sansa had tried flirting with at the football game, let her down gently.

But she must have been observed by Joff and his crowd at the game, for scrawled in yellow spray paint across her locker door was the word SLUT in all capitals.

Sansa couldn’t quite believe it at first. It wasn’t until she heard the faint snickering all around that the full force hit her. She felt her cheeks burn and tears sprang to her eyes. 

She was just about to turn away running when suddenly a large hand appeared, holding up a tissue to her.

“Here, girl. Take this,” said a familiar gravelly voice with an unfamiliar tender tone.

She looked up in surprise. Mr. Clegane was looking down at her with understanding deep in his eyes as he gave her a rueful half smile.

He leaned down and said, “Don’t mind these pigs, little bird. With your smarts and poise, you’ll be firing this lot someday.”

And Sansa realized that behind the biting mockery and anger, there’d always been a wry sort of kindness, warmth in those eyes of his.

She felt parts of herself melt.

He glanced in disgust at the graffiti on her locker. “Don’t worry about this, little bird. A little turpentine and a rag will take care of this. I’ll see to it.”

She blushed and looked down. “Mr. Clegane, I can’t ask that of you” –

“Get on now,” he said in that same soft tone, patting her shoulder lightly. “You’ve got to make it to your first class.”

By the end of the school day, there was no trace left of the hateful word.

And so, as an outlet for her pent up rage and sadness, she had started writing. Soon, real people in her life made their way in, playing the parts they had in her life, but in a kingdom for more marvelous than anything in reality.  
And it wasn’t until she created the fearsome but brave Hound to protect and worship Lady Sansa that she realized how out of control her crush had gotten.

The bell rang and Sansa started. “Oh, Miss Stark,” Clegane called as he wiped down the whiteboard while students filed gratefully out of the room. “Hang on a minute, will you?”

Sansa ignored the mocking ominous “oooohs” that came from the students still in the room. Even though he hadn’t looked at her, her heart leapt. She stood biting her lip, just slightly bouncing up and down in anticipation until the classroom was empty.  
Then it came upon her that he might want to yell at her some more about writing during class. So the first thing she said once they were all alone and he’d turned around was, “Mr. Clegane, I am so very sorry for writing during class. I” –

But he waved away her protest. “Forget it, little bird. Knowing you, you probably really were taking notes.” Sansa swallowed her smile as she detected just the barest hint of fondness in his voice. “That’s not why I asked you back.” He sat at the corner of his desk and reached inside one of his drawers. She tried not to stare at his extended neck and muscular forearm as he removed her essay from a week ago. “It’s about this.”

Her heart fell. “Is…is there something wrong with it?”

He quirked a thick eyebrow, laughing once. “Wrong with it? You’re off target again, little bird. It’s good. Really good.”

She didn’t bother hiding her smile anymore. “Oh, wonderful!”

He crossed his arms and looked down at the binders she was holding, and he drily studied something there.

Panicking, Sansa looked down quickly to make sure it wasn’t the latest chapter of _The Hound and the Little Bird_ he was looking at. Thankfully it was instead some sketches she’d recently made, just some random dress ideas.

“You still wanting to study fashion in college, then?” He asked dubiously.

She nodded, her eyes lighting up as they always did when her pet subject was brought up.

He stared at her for a bit, and she tried not to imagine that he was lost in her eyes as she was in his.  
   
Then he said, “Guess there’s no way you’re going to change your mind on that?”

“Well, no. I considered creative writing for a bit” – she blushed and unconsciously pressed the hidden pages of her story closer to her almost protectively, “—but frankly I don’t know if that’s where my true talents lie.”

“Aye, but _fashion_?” His nostrils flared at the word, as if at an unpleasant smell. “A girl with your brains should really focus on something more serious, like history.” He nodded toward her essay.

Had he not insulted one of her great passions, she would have been thrilled at his positive reference to her intelligence. As it was, the girlish shyness fled her face and a steely -- but not cold -- look entered her eyes. She lifted her head with quiet pride, saying, “Excuse me, sir, but I happen to take fashion very seriously. I want to create something beautiful and accessible to people who can’t readily afford such things.” She thought of the Lannisters, and she thought of her cousin’s girlfriend Ygritte, whose family was hardly able to make ends meet. 

Looking directly into Sandor Clegane’s eyes, she said, “Just because something’s beautiful and makes women happy doesn’t mean it’s worthless.” There was a flash of fire in her words.

A tense moment of silence between teacher and student.

Then Sandor smiled. Truly smiled. “You got me, Miss Stark.” He held up his hand in mock defeat. “You’re a lady with backbone.” He looked her over and a serious expression crossed his face. “I expect we’ll all be hearing a lot from you over the years.”

Their eyes locked. 

He stood abruptly, back to the whiteboard, preparing his next lesson. “Now on you get. Need some time away from your chirping to get ready for my next class.”

Sansa moved toward the door as if through a dream. 

Yes. She’d make a name for herself. Someday. Someday very soon.

She’d run her own fashion line. She’d tour the country, giving lectures for students just like her, inspiring them….

She stopped at the door, turning back. She watched him as he engrossed himself in his pop quiz questions he was writing out.

A smile played on her face.

Maybe someday soon she’d return to this very high school to give one such lecture.

And maybe there on the sidelines, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, would be Mr. Clegane, admiring how great and powerful his little bird’s wings had grown. Maybe afterward she'd approach him. Maybe they'd talk a long while, catching up, until it was just the two of them in the auditorium. Then maybe either he or she would suggest grabbing coffee somewhere, or a drink....

Yes, Sansa thought as she stepped into the hallway. Someday soon.

_But in the meantime, maybe Lady Sansa could accept the Hound’s offer to take her away…._

She hurried down the hall, and Sandor heard her giggle echo back to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Because deep in her heart Sansa is Tina Belcher. <3


End file.
